Broken Vision
by Sensue
Summary: He was never meant to give you those visions. The visions are an ancient, powerful force. Human were not meant to withstand them. CROSSOVER.
1. Chapter 1

- **Author**: Sensue (Website: www(dot)sensue(dot)net/)  
- **Author's NOTE**: Please read first, the summary and other notes are at the end of the first chapter. (Bottom of the page.) The reason why I did this was so that you'd read the first chapter before reading anything else that I have to say. Crossover Fiction  
- **Disclaimer**: I don't own them. Any of them. So wish I did.  
- **Rating**: TV-14 - Thoughts (_Italic_)

**Broken Vision By: Sensue**

**Chapter One**

Pain, blinding excruciating pain. Pain accompanied by flashes of an abandoned building, a child screaming and crying, harsh lights, and the smell of alcohol, piss and cigarettes.

Once the flashes end, I feel strong arms holding me, the same arms that stopped my sudden dissent towards the ground. He asks me over and over if I'm alright, if I need a pain killer.

He doesn't even wait for me to answer, just asking the black man kneeling at my other side to get the bottle of pills that they keep for me in one of the cabinets in the office.

I hear the clatter of the pill bottle as my friend runs back to my side, pills in hand along with a glass of water.

He hasn't left me yet and I know that he won't. He won't let go of me until I tell him to. Until I lie to him and tell him that I'm okay. And he'll believe me because I've gotten so good at hiding the pain that even with his abilities, he doesn't know that with every vision a piece of me dies.

Taking in a gasping breath, holding it for a minute until I gain control of my racing heartbeat. Opening my eyes, my best friend's face pressed close to mine, eyes filled with worry.

I plaster on a smile, one that takes away some of their concerns.

"What did you see?" The question. It's always the question on their minds. 'What did you see? What horrible crime against humanity? When? Where?' Those questions have become common place to me. As do the visions of the atrocities in the world. I've tried so hard to become immune, to harden myself at those flashes of anger, hurt, betrayal, and above all the loss of innocence. It's harder than one can believe to keep all that emotion bottled up inside of me.

I answer them, all the while gently pulling back from the body holding me. He lets me go, patting my hand, understanding that I needed space, especially with all of our friends watching intently and taking notes.

"I don't know," swallowing I tried to stop my voice from squeaking. "I saw a building- it was run down, um, dirty. There was a little boy there. He, he, was crying, screaming. Someone was there—I didn't see what they looked like. But I know I smelled a bar. You know: cigarettes and alcohol. It seemed familiar, like I've been there before."

Rubbing my hands through my long hair, I stare at the ground, knowing my friends are watching me, trying not to pressure me by asking me any more questions. I know that he's probably glaring at them the second their mouths attempt to open. He put a hand on my shoulder, kneading slightly in encouragement. My eyes fly open, "I got it! It's the McGregor's Bar on Harvard Rd. near the university."

"Great job!" They shout as they run out the door, picking up their weapons before leaving. He lingers for a moment; I brush him off, telling him to go. He won't, until I tell him. Smiling gently at me for a second, he nods then runs out catching up with the others to save the day.

I wait until they are so far away that even he won't hear my sobs. I cry, I cry so hard that I think the whole building will shake. My throat hurts now as I finally crawl over to my desk to pull out the prescription pain killers that I've hidden under all the papers; pain killers no one, including him know about. I pour a few into my hand, not bothering to count them as they slide down my sore throat. I pull myself into the chair, with a gasping breath; I hold my head trying to force my brain to stop slamming against the bone skull enclosing it. The world around me is blurry, so I close my eyes.

What feels like an eternity later, the pain lessens and I know then that my friends, my team, has defeated the evil in my vision. I was happy and relieved, for no child deserved the kind of pain that I had witnessed.

My eyes seem to be better now, not blurring the world anymore as they had been before. I turn on the computer, making sure no one was around me, as I continue my mad search on the medical internet site in front of me. I felt a burst of hope, when I found an article that discussed similar 'symptoms' like mine. I frown, not liking what I was reading, 'psychosis', 'hallucinations', and 'mental breakdowns' flooded the pages of the article. The young woman had apparently suffered a 'massive psychotic break' that was caused by an unknown neuro-electrical degenerative disorder. A tear escaped despite my attempt at stoicism. Surfing back up the page, I found that the article was written in a community medical center located in Los Angeles. Apparently, the young woman spontaneously recovered from her affliction with no ill effects, and is still monitored. I lower my head down to the desk, again crying at the senselessness of it all. Why? Why, me?

There are footsteps behind me; I don't even lift my head from the desk. His warm hands grip my shoulders as he leans in to see what has made me upset as he whispers in my ear that they got there in time and that it was going to be okay.

"What's got you so upset?" He asks this gently.

I lift my head up from my hands; this time, I'm not going to bother to hide the pain. It doesn't matter; I know what has to be done now. My friends come up behind me, supporting me. I swallow, then take a deep breath, "Guys, I have to go—."

My best friend jumps up, "What! What do you mean?" I smile, understanding that he is yelling because he is afraid. He is always afraid that I will leave him, as the other in his existence have.

"I need to check this out." I turn the screen so they can read it. "I need to see if this is true." They stare in silent horror reading what the doctors wrote so coldly; what they know that I suffer from frequently.

"Shit!" It flew out of their mouths.

That world encompassed my entire life. What, if the article is true, will be the end of it.

"Does it have any other information? A name? Something? Anything--," one of them asks me.

"No. It doesn't." I have to trust that someone there will be able to help me. Someone who knew this unnamed woman. I have to hope. It's all I have left in me. For from the moment Incacha grabbed my arm as he lay dying in our apartment, I was cursed. Cursed with his 'gift' to me. What Jim Ellison has explained to me, means 'the way of the shaman.' To me, it means death, destruction, and the loss of innocence.

Mainly, my own. For the life of Blair Jacob Sandburg was surely not meant to be like this. I read the line again, my vision once again blurring the screen in front of me, this time from tears that could not be shed. "Spontaneously recovering from her affliction with no ill effects, the patient left the hospital the next day against medical advice."

Jim Ellison kneeled down in front of my chair, "Don't worry, chief. If she's still alive, we'll find her. And maybe, she'll have the answers that we've both been searching for."

I nod, hoping with all my heart that our wishes, for once, will be granted.

To Be Continued...

Please read and respond. You didn't expect that huh? You were expecting Cordy?

- **Author**: Sensue (Website: www(dot)sensue(dot)net/)  
- **Summary**: When Incacha passed the way of the shaman to Blair Sandburg, he passed along his visions from the powers that be. Suffering from 'blind blowing' visions of people in trouble, Blair has searched far and wide for the one person in history who seemed to be 'cured' from them. A young woman living in Los Angeles. Obviously, Cordelia Chase

- **Warning**: Visions of death, loss of innocence (rape), etc. mentioned but not described in detail.

- **Disclaimer**: I don't own them…The Sentinel and Angel: the series are owned by their respective companies. I am not making any profit from writing this story.  
- **Rating**: TV-14 - Thoughts (_Italic_)


	2. Chapter 2

**PLEASE NOTE TIMELINE**: Season 3 of Angel. Cordy is still dying from her visions, but let's just pretend that Provider happened before Birthday. It's a funny episode, and the story continues from that night. (The night Cordy fell asleep with Angel and Connor.) But I don't want to transform her into a part-demon yet. For the Sentinel, it has been a year after Incacha passed the way of the shaman to Blair. Their friends know about his visions, but do not know that Jim is a Sentinel. (A human with 'super' senses; all five of his senses are enhanced.) Sort of like a vampire, except he's not dead. (In a way, he's more like Connor than a vampire. Connor had the enhanced hearing, scent, etc and he wasn't a vampire.)

Also, I'm going to write the story in Blair and Cordy's POV. And I'm not going to tell you which is which, you can figure it out. (I know you can do it.) LOL.

**Chapter Two**:

It's been the same every morning for almost two and a half years now. Before I even open my eyes, I can feel it; feel the migraine still lingering from the last mind-shattering vision that I had.

This time is really no different, except it is.

This time, I don't have Phantom Dennis bringing me my pills before I lift my head of my pillow in the morning. I don't have time to soak in the tub before getting up for work.

Before I open my eyes, I know that I'm not home. I'm at Angel's. Connor's baby smell and sounds surround my senses at the same time I can feel his little legs kicking against the hand holding him near me. That brings a smile to my face: my little angel. I know that he's not mine. Hell, it's not like I could forget how Angel betrayed us by lying about sleeping with Darla, but when I see his cute little baby face, it truly doesn't seem to matter anymore. I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

Finally, I force myself to open my eyes. Angel is coming out of the bathroom; obviously he'd taken a shower, still wrapped in a towel. I'm used to that. We've both worked together for so long—never mind when we all worked out of my apartment after the first office blew up—that we've seen each other in towels and such.

He smiles at me, "Good Morning, Cordy." He sort of jumps on the bed to tickle Connor, "Good Morning, little guy. How's my little guy, this morning? Playing with your toes. Yeah. I see your toes." His baby talk makes Connor and I laugh at his corniness.

I smile back at him, getting up out of bed to take my turn in the shower. Before I walk in I grab the purse that I threw in the corner of the room, waiting before I'm alone before letting the smile fade into pain. Grasping my head, I blink at my reflection. I look horrible. Opening my purse, I pulled out my painkillers, wincing as I swallow a couple of pills.

Washing my face and throwing on a layer of makeup, I plaster my fake smile on again, ready to start the new day.

Angel is carrying Connor around the room, trying to find a clean onesie. Once he finds it, he puts Connor back on the bed to change him as he chats with me. "How'd you sleep, Cordy? I think we were both really tired, I don't remember falling asleep. I keep thinking yesterday was some weird dream. Do we really have $50,000 or was that just a dream?"

I smile at him, "Yes. We have $50,000. But you're right; it does seem like a dream. I mean, demon trying to cut off Fred's head to put on their master? Weird."

After Connor is all dressed up and happily gurgling, Angel hands him over to me. I hold the baby close in my arms, not really wanting to let go of him. I fight hard to maintain my smile; I know in my heart, I'm not going to live long enough to see him grow up into a man. And the hardest part about the whole 'dying' thing is that I have to keep it a secret. Staring into Angel's smiling face; my heart breaks because I know that he's going to have a difficult time without me. He's going to be so angry at me; I promised him once that I'd always be by his side and now, I'm breaking that promise.

I focus on the present. I taught Fred how to answer the phones, Gunn how to file the paperwork, and Wesley how to help Angel when I'm not around and I did it so sneaky that they had no idea what exactly I was doing. I just have to hope that everyone will be okay.

We both walked down the stairs, (I'm still wearing yesterday's clothes) greeting the other members of Angel Investigations with a smile and a good morning. I love how no one seems to blink that I have stayed with Angel and Connor for the night.

"Alright, what do we have to work on today?" I exchange Connor for a cup of coffee that Angel has made me. I take a sip before going over to my desk to check our calls. Ever since we 'went on-line' yesterday, we've been bombarded with junk mail, prank phone calls, and occasionally a case. Though I do admit that our last case made Connor's college fund.

Wesley retreated back into his office as I check our calls and start handing out assignments. Gunn and Fred leave to check out a possibly spell on a teenaged boy. It seems he was cursed by his Wiccan ex-girlfriend.

Angel, of course, stayed in with Connor due to his 'sun-allergy', while I got rid of the junk and went over the invoices owed to us.

I figured that I'd be completely bored out of my mind today. It's funny how that old Murphy works out, huh? Well, bored was not the word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Please READ-Author's Note: **The Sentinel end of this story is very smarmy. That's a term that means two same-sex individuals (mostly men) who love (non-sexual) each other so much that they are willing to die for the other. It is very emotional and 'physically' (not sex) orientated. Jim is a Sentinel, he's also grown up with a lack of emotional support from his family—so his emotions are very 'touch' oriented. For example, if he's mad, he'll grab your shirt and throw you against a wall. Jim and Blair are **NOT** gay. They do **not** have a sexual relationship. But they do love each other—deeper than brotherly love. If this bothers you, please don't read it.

As for Angel/Cordy, everyone knows how I feel about them. I think that they are meant to be together. Me—I personally think that from the moment that they met at the Bronze, it was obvious. She was the only person on the show to ever make him laugh. And that's powerful. I truly think that his relationship with Buffy was boring. He was a rock, no emotions (unless he was dying) around her. He might have loved her, but in that case, it wasn't enough. Cordy, she belongs with him. They complement each other. She gives him humanity and he gives her a devoted friendship. If you knew the Sunnydale Cordy, she never had a true friend. One that KNEW the real her before. And Angel never had anyone who loved him so much that she'd be willing to die for him. Even Buffy never did that. That's why I think they should be together.

Oh, and since Det. Lockley seemed to have disappeared in Season Two of Angel, let's pretend that she still works with the police and that her fellow officers still treat her like she's crazy.

* * *

**Chapter Three**:

I never thought that it be easy. That I knew for a fact. I just didn't realize how hard it really was going to be to get information from people.

The new privacy/protection HIPAA Act prevented anyone at the hospital from divulging any personal information on the young woman that they treated. The only information they gave was that the information was collected a year ago. A YEAR AGO! I was starting to lose hope; what if she'd moved away? What if—God forbid—she was dead? What if my search was a dead-end?

Sitting quietly in the car that Jim had rented us, I couldn't help but fall into a deep well of depression that not even Jim's corny jokes could shake me from. I just stared out the window as the streets, people, and buildings flew by--barely listening to my friend's attempt at levity. I didn't want to smile; not when I felt like this.

"Chief," Jim's voice called out, "Chief, are you listening?"

Turning my head so that I could look at him, "Sorry, Jim. What did you say?"

He gave me a look of understanding, "That's alright, chief. I just said that I've got an idea. I had a friend that used to work at the LAPD. I was just saying that if there might be a police report on the incident. The article mentioned that she was brought to the hospital via ambulance. In Cascade, one of the police officers on patrol will always, at the very least check out the situation before the ambulance arrives, even if it's just to administer first aid and then he or she will decide whether to call it in. Then they are required to report it in the log. I was just thinking that it might be the same in LA. There might be a police report on the incident."

Leaning my head back against the headrest, I asked, "This friend that you know…would he give you the information? Because Jim, I have to say this; I'm starting to think that this was just a waste of time and money."

Closing my eyes, I didn't want to see my friend's face. I know that this 'mission' of ours has become important to him. Maybe more important to him than me.

Me, all I'm losing is my life; slowly, gradually my brain is shutting down with every vision that I have. The doctor's are surprised that I've lived this long. When I was first 'diagnosed' as having a neurodegenerative disorder, the doctors were shocked at how quickly the disease had progressed and they gave me less than six months to live. Hey, I figure I'm up them an extra six months, surprising the hell out of them by living with 'less than 50 of normal brain activity' for this long.

But Jim—He's not just losing his best friend, he's losing his guide. And I'm more afraid for him than of myself dying. I'm afraid that one day; he'll take a gun to his brain and follow me to the next world; whether it is heaven or hell. I'm afraid that he'll lose control over his senses, even though I trained his captain, Simon Banks in how to guide him. I'm afraid that he'll go back to where I found him; on the edge of insanity; and I'm afraid he'll fall over that edge.

I feel the car slow down and stop. I don't bother to open my eyes. I can hear Jim shut the car off, and then turn in the seat to most likely face me. "Blair," he never calls me by my name, "Blair? What's going on?"

I just breathe because right now, that's all I can do. I feel his hand on my knee, his thumb rubbing little circles on it in comfort. "Chief, look at me!"

His voice was harsh, not comforting as it has been lately. That's why my eyes fly open of their own accord. I open my eyes as he commands, but I still won't look him in the eye. I want to stay in control.

He grabs my chin in his hand, gently but forcibly catching my gaze. He won't let me look down, pressing his thumb against my cheek when I try. "I've never seen you like this, Blair. You can't give up."

My chin quivers in his hand, I can feel it. Swallowing hard, I blurt it all out, "Yes, I can. Jim, I think Incacha made a mistake. Maybe I'm not meant to be your guide. I mean, he had the visions all his life from what you've told me and he NEVER suffered like I did. What if—Jim, what if I'm just deluding myself into thinking that I'm supposed to help you? What if I took something that was meant to be with your real guide? I don't think that I'm supposed to have these visions…" I trail off, watching as Jim's face falls stricken at my words. It's only for a second, as the Rangers trained him, his face becomes unreadable. I hate that about him. Everyone knows exactly how I feel—I'm an open book, while he becomes stone cold and undistinguishable.

His hand moves to my throat, tightening. No one was as surprised but me when he openhanded slapped me; it shocked me more than it hurt. "Don't you ever—EVER," he shakes me slightly, "SAY THAT AGAIN! You are where you belong, by my side. And that's where you are going to stay! I need you." His voice softened, "Chief, you'll see. We'll find her. If I have to search this entire world I will, even for the slightest hope that she can help you."

A tear slips down my slackened face, Jim wipes it away. I just nod.

"Alright, well, Trevor was stationed in the 23rd Precinct," he turns the car on again, looking both ways before continuing to drive. "If he's still there, I know that I can get him to give us the information."

"How?" I ask, my voice still shaky.

"He owes me one. I saved his life once."

"Oh…yeah, that'll do it." I smile. It wasn't a big one, but I tried.

Jim smiles back, then laughs lightly. "Yeah, I guess it will, huh?"

* * *

23rd Precinct 

It was strange to walk into a police station with no knowledge of who anyone was. Jim stopped by the desk to ask where Lockley was. The woman pointed to a desk in the center of the room. It faced away towards the window.

We both walked up to the desk. Jim smiled, then leaning towards the person sitting in the chair, whispered, "I guess you still haven't learned your lesson about turning your back on your enemies, huh, Lockley?"

The chair whipped around quickly, a woman standing up, hand against her holster. "What did you just say to me? Who are you?"

Jim backed up, putting himself in front of me. "I'm—I'm sorry, officer. I just thought that this was Officer Lockley's desk."

"IT IS! I'm Lockley. What do you want?" Her aggression was still evident.

Jim looked puzzled, thinking; suddenly he smiled, "Katie? Is that you? OH, my god. It's been years! You're a police officer now? Like your Dad? Congratulations. I can't believe that he didn't tell me."

She looked at him, eyes wide as she finally recognized him, "Uncle Jim?" She laughed. "Oh, my god. It's so good to see you." She flung herself into his arms, hugging him quickly. "It's been at least ten years, Uncle Jim. Where have you been?"

He smiled at her widely, "I live in Cascade Washington. Sorry, short-stuff. I was busy and to be honest, I wasn't really ready to look up old army buddies and their families. So how are you? How's your dad? Retired yet?"

Directing both of them to the chairs in front of her desk, I couldn't help but notice she'd made detective, as her badge indicated, at a young age. Jim introduced the both of us as we sat down. "Well, I'm a detective now. It's um—it's going okay, I guess." She shot a look at her fellow co-workers who were staring. "As for dad, I'm sorry Uncle Jim, he died a year an a half ago. He was murdered."

We both rubbed our jaws, "Oh, man. I'm so sorry Katie. I didn't know." Jim mumbled.

She rubbed her forehead, "That's okay. Now, did you want something Uncle Jim? Why were you looking for my dad?"

I straightened, "Yeah, um, we were hoping that he—you might be willing to look up a police report for us. It would've been a year ago. A young woman—I don't know her name unfortunately—she had a psychotic break; The only thing that we know is that an ambulance would've been called to take her to the hospital." I cut out that she claims to have had "visions".

"Why do you want to find her?" Kate asked. That made us both freeze. It wasn't the question; it was how she said it. Like she knew exactly what we were talking about.

"You know her." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Her entire body language spoke of her tension.

Jim sat up on his heels, "Katie. Please, please. We just need to talk to her."

Her face was guarded, "Uncle Jim. I'm sorry. The young woman in question is protected by a va—by someone who you definitely do not want to cross. It is dangerous to get involved with them. Innocent people have died around them. Trust me, the group of people that she works with—well, let's just say they think they are above the law. I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

I lean in, my eyes pleading with her, "Det. Lockley. Please, just a name."

Her eyes darted around the room, trying to figure out what to do. "Fine. I'll tell you where you can find her." She pulled out an old business card from her desk. It was starting to turn brown. The card had a strange butterfly on it. 'We help the hopeless' was typed out, plus a phone number.

"What is this?" Jim asks.

"That's where she works. Angel Investigations. Listen Uncle Jim, please. Just be careful. It's really dangerous. Dad—well, you don't want to get involved with their business." With that, she stood up and walked away, leaving the both of us to stare at the business card, then each other.

I licked my lips, "Jim. Did we just find her?"

"Yeah." He said this simply.

"Jim?"

"Hmm?"

"Why would a twenty year old girl be dangerous?"

* * *

To Be Continued…

So, what do you think? Getting more interesting?


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**:

* * *

_Hyperion Hotel_

Angel, once assured that I could manage the phones and Connor, went back upstairs to go back to bed. I didn't blame him. Honestly, there's not much a vampire could do during the day, besides sleep.

Secretly, I love having Connor all to myself. Maybe it's wrong, but when we're alone, I can pretend. I can pretend that he's mine. Pretend that my life is the way that I'd always dreamed it to be. A wedding, a husband, a baby, a great job… that the visions aren't killing me.

I wouldn't trade them for anything. Hell, I had the chance to get rid of them with Groo in Plyea, but I couldn't. Not when my life has so much more meaning with them. When I was a little girl, I used to dream that I'd be a doctor or a nurse; someone that saves lives everyday. A person that would make a difference in the world. My father—well, he had a different opinion on exactly what a Chase woman could do or not do. He ruined my dream with his belittling; then destroyed it further by getting himself thrown in jail and getting our assets taken away by the IRS. So, there was no other option for me then to pretend to be the shallow, self-centered woman that I'd been in High School. I pretended that all I wanted was to be a big actress.

That was a lie.

It was only after Doyle, sweet, innocent Doyle sacrificed himself for humanity and passed along his visions to me that my life made sense. I had a purpose and my purpose was completely selfless. I told Angel once, our number one priority is to help the hopeless and I truly believed every word.

Now, even if I could trade my visions, I wouldn't. Not even for a moment. They are mine. They—DEFINE me. I'm 'vision girl'. I laugh at myself, making Connor giggle in my arms as I spin him around. "Yeah, Connor. Your daddy is the Dark Avenger and I'm Vision Girl. I'm silly, aren't I?" I tickle his little feet, "Aunty Cordy is so silly. Yes, she is." We giggle together for a little while.

The door jingled as it opened. Two men, one tall, the other shorter and both definitely cute, walked in. They aren't our usual type of clients; however I don't think they are lawyers either.

I walk over, still smiling as Connor tries to eat my hair, "Welcome to Angel Investigations. My name is Cordelia. How can I help you?"

The taller man came over to shake my hand, smiling at Connor, "Hello, Miss. I'm Det. James Ellison and this is my partner Blair Sandburg. We were wondering if we could talk to you."

I couldn't help but be afraid. Two police officers asking to talk to you is never normal. "Is something wrong?" I hold Connor closer to my body, shooting a look upstairs and to the closed office door, silently wishing for Angel or Wesley to come to my aid.

Det. Ellison assured me, "No. Not at all, Cordelia. We're here completely on an unofficial capacity. We were just hoping that we could get some information."

His partner was strange; he wore dark sunglasses and acted as if he was drunk. This was beginning to really freak me out. All I wanted was to inch towards the weapons closet for any weapon I could get my hands on. He caught my gaze towards his partner, then went over and practically dragged the guy over to the couch in the center of the lobby to sit down. "I'm sorry, miss. My partner is a little under the weather. Actually, that's one of the reasons why we need to talk to you."

Connor chose that moment to fuss, starting to cry, most likely because my body was tensing up. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you mean. Do you want to talk to the boss?" I rub the baby's back as I slowly back away from them.

Sandburg sat on the couch, head in hands. The detective was walking towards me; with every step he took I got more nervous. He tilted his head to the side, as if he was listening to something. His voice took on a different tone now—a more soothing tone, as if he was talking to Connor, as if somehow he knew that they were scaring me. "We aren't here to hurt you." To prove it he walked back to his friend and sat besides him, motioning that he wanted me to sit in the chair across from them.

"Alright. I'll sit down, but let me put down the baby, okay?" I walked over to my desk where Connor's basinet was, then gently placed him in the bed before covering him with his little blue blanket. I knocked on Wesley's office door, telling him we had customers.

He walked out of the office, his hair messy as if he hadn't slept. Which he probably hasn't; he's still trying to decode that prophecy. "Hello. I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. How can I help you gentlemen?" He put a hand on my shoulder, then asked if I could get them some coffee. Thanking him silently, I let him take over.

Returning with the coffee, I was happy to notice that the atmosphere was lighter than before. Wesley had moved Connor's basinet and was gently rocking him to sleep, while the men talked quietly. I passed the coffee to Wesley, the detective, and placed his partner's coffee on a little folding table I'd brought with me from the office area. "Thank you," Mr. Sandburg whispered, wincing as he spoke, as if the sound of his own voice pained him.

I smile at him, forcing myself to relax and act professionally, "You're welcome." I pulled up another chair for myself, then grabbed a notepad and pen to take notes. "So, what can we help you with today?"

Mr. Sandburg pulled off his glasses and I couldn't help but stare at him. His eyes—It shocked me. They looked like Doyle's. It wasn't the color or intensity. It was that pained look of innocence lost. The same look Doyle had right after he'd seen something that shook his soul. The look he had in his eyes right before he died.

I felt it coming, I felt it a split second before it hit. The pain. The utter excruciating pain.

Then the flashes.

_A Doctors Office_

_An Explosion_

_A Jungle_

_A Hippy Woman_

_Det. Ellison_

_A blond woman_

_A fountain_

_A police station_

_Pain_

_Fear_

_Death_

The first thing I hear is Connor's screams as I open my eyes. My throat hurts, most likely from my own screams of pain. I feel strong arms holding me up. Angel's arms. He must've heard me. Immediately, I ask for a pain killer, though I know that Wesley has probably already run to go get them.

Angel asks me if I'm alright, so I lie, as I always do. "Yeah. I'm fine." I can hear another voice ask the same question. Now I remember the clients are in the room. "Yeah. I—Um. I'm epileptic, so I get seizures," I make this up. "But I'll be fine as long as I get my medication."

Wesley runs up to me and hands me my pills. I thank him before swallowing them down without water. Angel helps me sit up.

"Oh, my god. You're—." I put my hand against my mouth, staring in complete horror.

Mr. Sandburg is also lying on the ground, his nose bleeding and his partner helping him to sit up. "Jim," he whispered to him, "I saw—I can't believe it."

Angel and Wesley also catch on. Obviously, they were aware of exactly what happened. It happened to me often enough. It was quite a shock to see it happen to someone else though. A stranger.

"You have visions," Wesley states as he hands a couple of pain killers to the man lying on the ground gasping in, what I'd assume that he'd been feeling, mind numbing pain.

Sandburg whispers, "Yes. Please, please, help me. I need to get rid of them."

_

* * *

Wolfram and Hart Offices_

"It's Park. We have a couple new players. And one of them—he's priceless. A human seer." Listening to his boss, he agreed, "Yes. We'd assumed that Cordelia Chase was the only surviving human seer on Earth. I guess we were wrong. Yes, sir, his eyes alone will be worth millions. Alright. I'll handle it, sir. Goodbye."

Hanging up his cell phone, Gavin Parks stared at the monitors in front of him with a sly smile on his face. He grabbed the remote control, pressing rewind. The sight of both Cordelia Chase and the newcomer both falling to the ground with visions was truly a sight to behold.

With any luck, he'd be in charge of the Special Projects department by the end of the week.

* * *

Well, what'd you think? Sensue 


End file.
